Exsanguination Cyphers
by Bella Watson-Holmes
Summary: For Sherlock Holmes, the new serial killer is just the case he needed to escape his boredom. When the murder of his mother puts John in Sherlock's path, can he help the consulting detective find the killer? (Johnlock)
1. Chapter 1

Scotland Yard got a call about a body found in a resident by a neighbor; Detective Lestrade was called to the scene. When he arrived he looked around and, before stepping in too far, he pulled his phone out. He knew this was a case for Sherlock Holmes; the world's only consulting Detective. He called Sherlock and waited for him to pick up.

"Sherlock, I have case for you, I assure you it's worth your time." DI Lestrade said, giving the address before he hung up.

"You called him, didn't you?" Anderson glowered.

"Yes. now, do your job." DI Lestrade said, putting his phone in his pocket. Anderson and the team got to work. So, Lestrade just waited for Sherlock.

Sherlock alighted the cab and made his way up on the curb. He studied the outside of the unassuming small house, scowling at the trampling that had been done by Anderson and crew. He took in a few mental notes. He could tell that the man had entered through the window, but left through the front door, jumping onto the grass to attempt to rid his shoes of blood, and jumping the small fence and taking off down the street. A little blood had been left on the sole of the shoe. He noted mentally, 'high arch, supination, most likely was wearing typical runners.'

He finished his outward review of the house, checking the grass, window frame, fence and other parts for more evidence but only found small black fibers and perhaps a fingernail. He would alert Lestrade to that when he met him.

He entered the house, stopping to study the full bloody foot prints. He was correct, typical runners, approximately a size eleven therefore would be roughly his height if the stride and size was correct. He looked up to study the den. It was in complete disarray. The couch was overturned, the table shattered against a wall, the television was smashed, there was blood spatter on the wall and a small statue that must have originally been on the mantel if the dustless circle had anything to say.

He made his way to the body, studying the spatter and such to get a theory on the height of the man who had obviously bludgeoned the woman in the head. He pulled out some latex gloves he had in his pocket and slipped them on before touching the body and analyzing it.

Sherlock hovered over the body, studying it. It was a woman in her mid forties, blonde curly hair. He couldn't tell you much more for her entire body was covered in lacerations. Her face had been sliced in a methodical manner. On each side, nearly symmetrical, were two cuts from hair line, across the eyes and over the jaw, ending at the neck wound that had ended her life. She was nearly decapitated.

The rest of her body was a wreck; everything was red. She was covered in thin, intersecting lesions that were all precise as if made in a predetermined pattern and with practiced ease. The lacerations created a horrible pattern over the stomach.

"It looks like he was attempting to carve something specific here..." He murmured, pulling out his magnifying lens and studying the intersecting marks. "This was done with a scalpel more than likely. Medical knowledge." He followed down to the extremities, noting that both the wrists and the ankles had been sliced similarly to the neck; almost completely severed.

"Was there any scalpels found?" Sherlock murmured when he saw feet approaching him and looked up at D.I. Lestrade.

"None, I take it that's what you think caused this?" The DI asked, crouching down next to the body.

"He also apparently took her nipples." Sherlock murmured. Lestrade grimaced, trying not to look at it.

"There isn't a lot of blood and some bruising indicates that even after death she was held up slightly. Did you find anything under her neck or back?" The brunette asked, looking around the room for any such items. Lestrade shook his head, "None. I also noted that for all the lacerations and near dismemberment there was a lack of blood. We looked throughout the house, including the bath tub, but found nothing."

Sherlock frowned, studying the body and noticing something, "The ankles and wrists, those were cut postmortem. Look at the flesh. This was done for some reason aside from exsanguination. She most likely died from the neck wound... which the blood is missing. How peculiar." He stood up and looked at Lestrade, "Inform me at once when there is news, I'll be working on my end with my theory. Also, tell Anderson he missed a fingernail on the windowsill. It may come in useful."

With that, he walked out of the house.

Lestrade looked after the retreating form, his concentration being broken by a voice.

"We found the next of kin. A John Watson." Sergeant Donovan said.

"I will go see him no. Oh, yeah, Anderson? You missed a fingernail on the windowsill." Di Lestrade said before leaving, Anderson's curses trailing after him.

* * *

**Winterimperfect wrote the crime scene. Doing a fantastic Job of it.**

**Hope you like it.**


	2. Chapter 2

John Watson was at school and just getting out of class. He was a fourth year medical student that lived with his mom. He was average height with blond hair and blue eyes; most females found him attracted but most who knew him could tell you he preferred guys.

"John, you need to go to the front desk… Someone is here to see you and it is rather important."

"Thanks." John said, heading towards the front desk. A man was waiting.

"John Watson?" The gray haired man asked, John nodded, "Detective Inspector Lestrade, I need you to come with me."

"To where?" John asked.

"The police station, you're not in trouble it is about your mother." Lestrade said.

"Has something happened?" John asked.

"Let's talk about this at the station." DI Lestrade said in a clip manner. John followed to the police car. They were at the station thirty minutes later; he was taken to a room with a table and chair.

"What is going on?" John asked worried.

"Sit down, you'll need to for this." He stated and John did as advised.

Lestrade took a deep breath, "Your mother was found murdered."

"My mother... is dead? How?" John asked, looking up wide-eyed in shock, surveying the DI's face for any hint of a lie.

"Afraid so." DI Lestrade said.

John's eyes turned glassy as he retreated into his mind, calming himself down over the shock of loosing the last of his family. This morning she had been making breakfast and the world was normal. What could've happened?

A lone tear slid down his cheek and he quickly wiped it away.

Lestrade looked at the young male, "You going to be alright?"

"Eventually." John answered.

"Do you know anyone who would want to harm your mother?"

"No, she hasn't dated since my dad passed five years ago and we just lost my grandfather last month." The blond male said.

"Did anyone have a key to your home?"

"No." John answered.

"Do you have anywhere to go?" DI Lestrade asked.

"No, I live with my mom." John said.

"You can't go to the house since it's a crime scene now. Let me see if I can make some arrangements." DI Lestrade said.

"Wait here, I'm going to go see if I can sniff down a place for you to live. I already have an idea." Lestrade explained.

John nodded and stayed in the interrogation room, he sighed, and waited.


	3. Chapter 3

**we changed the ending of Chapter 2, please re-read it.**

* * *

Lestrade let out a sigh as he made his way up the stairs. He passed the threshold and looked at the armchair where Sherlock sat, violin in hand. He placed it down and stood up, "What is it?"

"The son of the murdered woman has no where to go. I was thinking he could stay here with you." Lestrade stated, his arms crossed as he leaned his hip against the door frame.

"Why, pray-tell, am I the only choice for some brat to live with?"

"He has no relatives, he can't afford to stay in a hotel and live alone, he's at danger if the killer wants to eradicate that family. He needs someone to guard him as well as a place to live. You see where I'm going with this?" Lestrade asked, one hand out, palm up, facing Sherlock.

"Yes, but that doesn't mean I'm pleased with it." The brunette sighed, "Can I at least **meet** the kid?"

Lestrade chuckled, "Of course, but he's not a kid. He's twenty-one and in medical school."

Sherlock raised a brow, "Interesting."

"Coming then?" Lestrade asked, waving the brunette along.

Sherlock nodded and quickly got ready, following the man out the door.

–

Sherlock got out of the car as quickly as possible and made his way into New Scotland Yard, finding his way around easily until he entered one of the interrogation rooms where John had been situated while looking for a place for him to stay.

John looked up, startled, at the quick open and close of the door. He looked up at the imposing figure. He studied the man intensely, taking in the unruly dark curly hair, the ghostly white skin, the glittering pale eyes, the aquiline features, the imposing coat and impeccable dress. He studied all seventy-two inches of the lanky man, unsure of what to make of him.

The taller man then went and sat across from John, studying him before leaning back and looking at him.

"So, you're a medical student, hmm? Studying to be a doctor... Interesting." He murmured, John looked at him expectantly.

When the other just studied him, he let out a sigh.

"You're quite in shape, you were in some sort of physical sport. Pardon me for not knowing anything about sports, I have no use for such frivolous knowledge." The other sniffed.

"It was Rugby. Now, who the hell are you?" The blonde queried, getting impatient.

The taller man let out a laugh and waved his hand as if to wave away the question, "I'm Sherlock Holmes, and if you're to be living with me we need to cover a few things."

"Wait, who said anything about living with you? I don't even know who you are! You could be an insane criminal for all I know!" John exclaimed, his brows furrowed as he sat forward and stared at the other harshly.

"Lestrade informed me that you had nowhere to go and that he was placing you in my custody. I, however, wanted to see who you are before I let you anywhere near my house. I see my fears were misplaced, for you seem to be perfect for my extra room. I'm not a criminal, I'm the person police come to when they're out of their depth- which is often just so you know- a consultant of sorts. Now, do you have any quirks or hobbies I should know about? I hope you have no issues with violins. I also do experiments and would prefer not to be bothered during them and if I go silent, leave me alone I'll soon be right again."

"Why the hell should I believe you?" The blonde growled, backing his chair away. The police wouldn't consult amateurs, he was sure this man was a scammer.

"You should believe him kid, he's telling the truth."

John looked up to see the Detective Inspector leaning against the door. He hadn't even noticed the man enter due to the arrogant presence of the man across from him.

"Did you have to tell him all that information about me? It makes me uncomfortable." John sighed, crossing his arms as he eyed the brunette.

"I told him nothing aside from the fact you needed a place to stay, and that you were in medical school." Lestrade said with a smirk.

"How the hell did you know I was in sports or becoming a doctor? Are you some sort of stalker?" John asked, inching his chair away some more.

"He's like that. There's no way he could have looked you up, he doesn't even know your name." The DI quipped before leaving the room.

"How did...?" John trailed off, staring suspiciously at the brunette.

"I already knew you were in medical school, it was a quick deduction from the way you held yourself and the way you studied me that you were either trying to become a nurse or a doctor. The way you lingered on certain parts of my anatomy made me think doctor. Your build is quite muscular, not from going to a gym but from actual training. You must have been doing a tough physical sport of some kind. Simple." Sherlock sighed, then awaited more insults from the blonde.

"Brilliant." The other whispered, looking down at his hands.

Sherlock raised both eyebrows at the change in demeanor and words, "That's a new one."

The blonde raised a brow and looked at him in question, "What? That you're brilliant? Isn't that what anyone would say over something that fantastical?"

Sherlock shook his head, "Normally people yell at me. Things like, 'Piss off' or 'Freak'. Those are the usual."

John looked at him incredulously before shaking his head, "I keep a bulldog named Gladstone, that won't be a problem will it? I hope he's doing okay. I keep him in my room when I'm out. Oh no, he must've made a mess of my room! Did anyone let him out?"

"It's okay, we found him in the initial sweep and had him being taken care of at a vet. I'm sorry, it slipped my mind to inform you." Lestrade stated, having come in during John's worrying over Gladstone.

"Oh, thank God." John said, relief washing over him as he leaned back in his chair.

"So, I take it you'll be staying with Sherlock? The arrangement is good?" The DI asked, smiling as the two nodded in an affirmative way.

"Alright. Shall I drive you back and pick up Gladstone?" Lestrade asked as the two stood up and went to leave. Sherlock immediately raised a hand.

"We go home by cab, you bring us Gladstone." He stated, staring at the DI intently before brushing past, "Come along, John. Much to do."

The blonde looked wide-eyed at Lestrade, whom simply shrugged and muttered, "He's always like that. Better chase after him or he'll leave you here."

John nodded and jogged after the other man whose height made it difficult to keep up after having lagged behind. He almost had to dive into the cab before it pulled away.

"You could have waited." John panted out, leaning heavily against his knees.

"I knew you'd catch up, so what was the point." The brunette sniffed, pulling out his phone and sending a text. "There, I told Lestrade to pick up some clothing for you as well. Size medium shirt, size thirty-two trousers, medium pants, correct?"

John gaped slightly before shaking his head and nodding, "Though I prefer size large for comfort."

Sherlock tapped out another text with that little tidbit and rested against the back of the cab, quiet for the duration of the ride.

* * *

**Winterimperfect wrote the chapter.**


	4. Chapter 4

John nearly fell down the stairs in his rush to the door having seen Lestrade pull up. He opened the door and was nearly knocked down by his dog.

"Gladstone! How I've missed you." John said, holding onto his dog happily. The dog lapped at his face and John straightened up, taking the leash from the Detective Inspector.

"Here's some clothes. It's only two pairs but **he** can take you shopping after. I'm not some errand boy." Lestrade sniffed, holding out two bags of clothes.

"Thank you. I'm sorry he made you do that." John said, smiling at the DI as he took the clothes from him.

They said their goodbyes and John made his way back up the stairs and into the flat. Gladstone quickly took to sniffing around the place intently, rolling in specific parts only for Sherlock to shoo him away.

John cocked a brow as Sherlock muttered about the dog rolling in places he'd spilled poisons and chemicals, claiming the dog would not only be a nuisance but would more than likely kill himself via the carpet.

The blonde went up the stairs and into his room, Gladstone following behind happily. He placed the clothes on his bed and scratched his dog on the head before realising something. He didn't have any food for his dog, nor any bowls. He hurried down the stairs and looked at Sherlock, "Hey, I need dog food for Gladstone, Lestrade didn't bring any and I doubt you have any. You don't have any meat, do you?"

He went to the fridge and opened it, gaping for a second before closing it and turning around. "So... you have absolutely no food in the fridge but you **do** have dismembered body parts?"

"Only place to keep them." Sherlock quipped before reaching into his back pocket and throwing a card at John, "Use that. Buy whatever you need. Be careful."

The blonde nodded and made his way down the stairs and out of the flat. He slowly made his way down the street, looking at everything to help him find his way back. He soon found a grocery store and made his way inside, picking up a basket.

"He didn't give me a budget but I'll still try to buy small." He murmured to himself as he grabbed a few items for himself and mentally planned dinner for the both of them.

"I hope he's not a vegetarian or something." He continued talking to himself as he placed two steaks into his basket before going down the pet aisle and getting a small bag of dog food and a small bowl that was rather overpriced but would have to do.

He finished grabbing the few necessities needed before going to the self checkout and quickly bagging and paying for the groceries. He pocketed the credit card, triple checked it was in fact in his pocket, before lifting the bags of groceries and heading back out.

He slowly made his way back down the street, taking in the rather gloomy sights of the street before he saw the dark door in the distance and hurried his pace up to get inside.

He carefully made his way up the stairs and put down his groceries before quickly putting them away.

"I hope steak and potatoes are alright with you for dinner." John murmured, looking over his shoulder at his new flatmate.

Sherlock glanced at him, contemplated something, pulled out his phone as if to verify something before nodding his ascent.

"I am in need of nourishment. I take it you can cook?" He asked, pocketing his phone.

"Yeah, my mum taught me to." John said with a sad smile as he finished putting away his groceries before heading up the stairs with the food and bowl.

He poured some food into it and placed it down for Gladstone and quickly put the rest of the food in the closet on a high shelf so his dog couldn't get it.

He ruffled Gladstones fur before he made his way back down and sat down in the armchair across from where Sherlock was perched, computer in lap now.

John leaned back into the armchair and began to slowly look around the room, noting rather eclectic items such as skulls and jars with random body parts in it. He soon cocked a brow, "Is that a fetus?"

Sherlock looked up at him before glancing over his shoulder to the bookcase.

"Oh, yes. It is. It was a gift. It's not human though, don't worry. That's illegal anyways, I think." The brunette said in passing before going back to his computer and typing away at something.

John suddenly remembered the credit card and went to fish it out when the deep voice of his companion cut him off, "Keep it for now. I won't be needing it for a little while. Never know when you need money."

The blonde nodded absently, pushing the card back in his pocket. This guy was really quite strange, though beautiful.

His whole body froze as that thought crossed his mind. He pushed it down and murmured mentally, "He's elegant, not beautiful."

He nodded his ascent to his quick mental cover up and continued to glance around the room. It soon got close to dinner and John decided to start making dinner.

He quickly pulled out a cutting board and a knife and was about to get to work on the potatos when Sherlock cut him off, "I wouldn't use those if I were you. Perhaps you can borrow Mrs. Hudson's kitchen, I doubt she used anything in hers with poisons or decaying organic matter."

John gulped before putting his items in a grocery bag and hurrying down the stairs to the landlady's flat. He knocked on the door and she popped out. After hearing his request she ushered him inside and together they cooked the dinner.

–

"That was really quite delicious." Sherlock murmured as he finished his dinner, he smiled slightly at the blonde before he left the kitchen table to sit in his armchair once again.

John cleaned up the table and did the dishes before bringing them back down to Mrs. Hudson's apartment where she thanked him for cleaning them in advance and asked how the dinner went before going into some gossip.

The blonde soon managed to worm his way out of the grape vine that seemed to excrete from the landlady's pores and hurried back upstairs where he was greeted with the tall brunette picking up his violin.

"I hope it doesn't bother you. If it's any consolation, I'm in a good mood." He said with a playful smile before he brought the bow across the strings and began playing a calming melody.

John sank into his armchair and just listened in awe at the sheer beauty that seemed to come alive from this eccentric, tall and _brilliant_ man.

* * *

**winterimperfect wrote the chapter and for any followers of this story who read any of my other stories my SD card holding the files had to be formated so i lost the new chapters. We have to rewrite them so updates will most likely be late. I will update them as soon as i can. **


	5. Chapter 5

John was waking up, taking a few moments for him to remember the events of the previous day; he took a deep breath and felt tears welling up, but held them back. Gladstone was lying next to him and John didn't even know if he'd be able to handle burying her. The blonde male knew he had to get moving and he had to call his school and take the next term off. He got dressed and made the call; he had only two days left in this term and it was mostly reviewing what he had learned so he was able to get out of the last two days.

John walked downstairs after feeding Gladstone and he went to make some tea, Sherlock was on his laptop typing away. He was thinking of his mom when started the kettle; it would be a long time before he would be able to do stuff without thinking of her. The blonde looked towards the brunette; he was curious about Sherlock, the tall brunette was different from anyone else he had met before.

"So, I see you're taking a break from school." Sherlock said. John turned to looked at him.

"Yeah, but how did you know that?"

"Observation. It is ten o'clock in the morning and you haven't left for school. You're the type to take school seriously, so it must be an important reason for you to not go to school." Sherlock rambled.

John kept his cool, "Yeah, my mom was murdered yesterday."

"I know. I was at the crime scene."

"You're on the case? But the police don't consult amateurs." John said surprised.

"It is a good thing I am not an amateur than." Sherlock remarked with a smirk. John looked at the tall pale brunette and went back to making his tea. Sherlock continued to type away on his laptop. John finished making his tea and went upstairs; he checked on Gladstone and played a game on his phone. He eventually went back downstairs just as Sherlock was getting up and grabbing his coat.

"Where are you going?" John asked.

"The morgue to look at the body again." Sherlock said flatly.

John thought quickly, "Can I go with you?"

Sherlock looked at the young man and walked up to him, "You want to go to the morgue to see your mother's body? I'm fine with it but most humans would consider it inhumane for me to drag you to such a thing. Are you sure you want to come?"

John swallowed nervously,"Y…yes, I'd like to go anyways." He stuttered. Sherlock stared at him blankly, John waited for an answer.

"Alright. Hurry up and grab your coat." John hurried and grabbed his cell phone along with his coat, hurrying to where Sherlock was waiting impatiently. They both went out the door and Sherlock hailed a cab.

They arrived at St. Bart's and John got out, he followed Sherlock to the morgue. John knew this wouldn't be easy, but he wanted to see what happened. Sherlock went over to a female with long brown hair. She smiled awkwardly at Sherlock, John went over.

"This is John Watson." He said to the brunette, "John this is Molly."

Sherlock went over to the body and uncovered it; John walked over to his mom's body, horrified. She had cut marks all over her body. He felt sick to his stomach but he held back the urge to vomit. He could just wonder if his mother was alive during everything.

Sherlock carefully examined the body. There wasn't much different than what he had observed the first time, but he persevered in hopes of more evidence. His brows knitted together as he noticed a strange bruise on the neck that was more apparent now than at the scene.

"John, what does that look like to you?"

John jumped and quickly made his way over, pushing out of his mind that this was his mother's body and to look at it objectively.

"It looks like something hard was placed under her neck and stayed there even after she died causing those markings around the bruise." John stated, studying the marks.

"This was done with a hot scalpel. Look at these marks, the skin is split too smoothly. It had to have been heated."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, a small smile on his face.

"Great, so you're seeing what I'm seeing. Brilliant. John, let's go."

* * *

Back at 221b John was in the arm chair thinking. He couldn't imagine why anyone would do that his mom. She had no enemies and after John's father's death, she barely went out and she had to pay the bills so John could go to school.

"Do you know why she was murdered?" John asked Sherlock breaking the silence.

"Not yet. I have a theory, but not one concrete enough to divulge." Sherlock murmured, his fingers steepled in front of his mouth as he contemplated the evidence he saw.

John looked at him, "Will you get him?"

"I more than likely will." He replied, an eyebrow cocked as he stared at the blonde whom looked at him eagerly.

"I want to help catch this bastard."

* * *

**winterimperfect and i both wrote this chapter, sorry the update wasn't put up sooner we both got busy but here it is! i hope you like!**


	6. Chapter 6

John just waited for a response from Sherlock, his heart raced for a moment. The tall brunette stared at the blonde; John could almost have predicted his answer from expression on Sherlock face. The brunette stood up and calmly stated, "No."

"Why not?" John asked.

"You would be in danger and see many dead bodies. I doubt you could handle it. You'd probably faint."

"I won't, and you asked for my opinion at the morgue, I studied my own mother's dead body and I didn't faint." The blonde pointed out.

Sherlock sighed, "True, but can you handle a gun? You'd more than likely need something to protect you. I can do martial arts, boxing, sword fighting and handle a gun. What can you do?"

"I know how to fight a little, and my father taught me how to use a gun."

Sherlock looked at the blonde and saw the determination.

"If you're sure." He murmured before cocking his head to the side and glanced at the door, "Lestrade, where?"

"Slade Gardens, near Brixton Road." Lestrade said. John looked at Sherlock, confused when he saw the brunette turn around and grin, nearly biting his knuckle in excitement.

"Go ahead, I'll take a cab."

Lestrade nodded and left. Sherlock giggled in delight, "Grab your coat John, we have a serial killer!"

They quickly descended the stairs and John watched as Sherlock strode to the street and raised an arm. A cab immediately stopped and he quickly hopped in, beckoning for John to join him quickly. The blonde hurried over and slid into the vehicle, closing the door as Sherlock muttered out, "Robsart street. Quickly."

They were off and John looked at Sherlock expectantly, but the other simply pulled out his phone and sent off a text or two before pocketing it and looking out the window.

A half hour had passed before they alighted the cab. Lestrade was standing next to the fence when he spotted them. They began making their way towards the gate and Lestrade briefed them.

"A woman in her late thirties it appears, similar wounds to the John's mother," He broke off and looked at John, whom nodded and told him to continue and that it didn't bother him, "The difference being that her feet and hands were severed this time and that it was in a public place. I'd say it's the same killer, similar M.O. and all that. Not much evidence to be had, thou-"

Sherlock hopped over the fence and began making his way towards the crime scene. Lestrade sighed, pointed at the gate a foot or so away and called out, "The gate was right there, Sherlock, you could have waited!"

But his voice was lost on the brunette whom was looking around the body, glowering at the forensic crew and began making his way back towards where he hopped the fence. He tilted his head and eyed the fence, the ground and then the sidewalk. He nodded to himself before pulling out his magnifying glass and hovering it around the spikes and rail of the fence.

Lestrade looked at John, "Please tell me he didn't drag you here."

"No, I wanted to come actually." John said. Lestrade nodded.

"So, how you holding up with him?" The Di asked.

"Fine. He's not as bad as I thought.. He's nice in his own way." John said, smiling. Lestrade looked at him strangely.

"You mean you don't have the insane urge to punch him?" The man asked, surprised.

John looked at Lestrade, "Why would I want to do that?"

"John?" Sherlock called out, bringing John's attention to him and off of Lestrade as he was beckoned over.

"Stand here, yes, like that. Perfect. Now, can you launch yourself over the fence or climb it without hurting yourself?"

John looked at Sherlock like he was mad, but placed his hands on the railing, put a foot on the bottom rail and tried to hop over it much like Sherlock did. There was a rip and he hissed, putting a hand to his leg once on the other side. The point had ripped his jeans and made him bleed a touch.

"That's what I thought, they keep those pretty sharp." The brunette murmured, pulling out his magnifying glass and looking at the spikes.

"A different person did this one. Someone your height." Sherlock stated, looking at the deep mark in the soil. "He stumbled with the weight of the woman. He killed her elsewhere and brought her here."

Lestrade had made his way over as he said that, "So is it a copy cat or?"

Sherlock frowned, "I'm not sure. Let me look at the body."

He went back to the body, studying the grass as he went. "She was dragged." He muttered, before crouching down next to the body and examining it.

The woman had brown hair, but a similar style to the other victim, her face was also cut in a ritualistic manner, but horizontally instead of vertically. Her face wasn't bludgeoned so he could see most of her features. The killer had taken her eyes it appeared.

He pulled out his magnifying glass again and studied the ribbon thin marks. These were made in a much neater manner than the first victim, and the symbol in the middle was much easier to see this time around. It appeared to be a flower bud or a floral hieroglyph. He took his phone out and snapped a picture of it. He would need that to study later.

"John, look at these marks please. Are they made the same way?"

The blonde crouched beside him and looked at them carefully, taking Sherlock's magnifying glass to one and squinting. "It was done with a hot scalpel also, but the hand is different. These weren't the same people."

Sherlock frowned and stood up, looking at Lestrade, "I do believe we have not just one or two killers, Lestrade. I think we might be dealing with a cult."

* * *

**Winterimperfect wrote the crime scene and Sherlock lines.**


	7. Chapter 7

A female with long chestnut hair exited class; she was studying to be a register nurse. She was heading to the classroom where her boyfriend was supposed to be. They hadn't seen each other in days but sometimes that was normal; they were constantly studying and it had been finals so they never saw each other around that time. The last time she had seen him or even heard from him was a few days ago. She got to his classroom and looked in the class but didn't see him so she went in and walked up to a dark haired male. He was John's best friend and they always had the same course so he would know what was going on.

"Mike."

"Mary." The male said. "How are you doing?"

"Fine. I was wondering where John was?" Mary asked.

Mike looked at her confused, "What? He didn't tell you what happened?"

"No. What happened?" she asked, worried.

"I thought he would have told you. He won't be back until next term… His mom was murder a few days ago." Mike explained.

"Wait, his mom…? Oh my god, I need to call him." She hurried out and pulled her phone out.

* * *

John heard his phone going off and grabbed it, looking at the caller ID he answered the call.

"Hi, Mary." He answered.

"John? I am so sorry about your mother. Why didn't you call me?" She asked.

"Sorry. There was so much going on I must have forgotten to call you."

"I mean, where you going to stay? How are you going to pay for school? What about Gladstone?" Mary asked question after question.

"Sweetheart, slow down. Gladstone's with me and I am living with someone." John said.

"Wait, you have a flat mate?"

"Yes, he let me stay here along with Gladstone."

"So what is he like?" Mary asked not sounding as worried.

"He's fine. He is brilliant, actually and different than anyone I have met in my life." John couldn't help but smile. "He even helped me get stuff for Gladstone and me. I mean, he let me stay here and he barely knows me."

"You seem to like him, John. You sure like to talk about him." Mary said, her voice sounding suspicious.

"Mary, he is just my flat mate." John said.

"Right, I got to go home and start my homework, talk to you later." She said hanging up.

John was confused; he didn't like Sherlock, not in that way. Yes, he was attracted to men as well as women, but not to Sherlock Holmes. They were just flat mates and more than likely John would eventually move out at least once he found work. He just admired him and his intellect.

Yes, that's it exactly.


	8. Chapter 8

John walked downstairs after feeding Gladstone for the evening. He still wasn't letting him out of the bedroom except for when he took him for a walk.

"You need anything, Sherlock?" John asked.

He got no response and looked at the brunette, "Sherlock did you hear me?"

He studied the still form of his flatmate, whom was curled up on the couch, on his side, in his pajamas and dressing gown. He didn't twitch, he didn't move. He was in that mood of his. He pulled out his phone and sent a text to Mary.

'**Can I come over today?' JW**

'**Come anytime.' MH**

John smiled and grabbed his coat; he made sure he had his cell phone and wallet. He left the flat, but not before leaving a note for Sherlock. He hailed a cab for he knew he had enough money for the cab to get there and back. He gave the cab driver the address and sat back until he was dropped off and paid the cabbie. He went up to the door and knocked. The door opened and he was gestured in the flat and as soon as the door closed she hugged him tightly.

"I am so glad to see you." Mary said kissing him.

"I am glad to see you too." John smiled.

"I made some tea, your favorite."

They went to the living room; he sat down as she served the tea. "It must be hard for you, losing your mom."

"Yeah, I saw her body… She must have suffered…" John trailed off; Mary sat next him and grabbed his hand. "I just can't believe someone would do such a thing."

"You have me; I will always be here for you." Mary said with a smile.

"I know, it's just I don't know what I am going to do without her."

She squeezed his hand; she got closer to him and planted a kiss on his lips. John kissed her back passionately as he pulled her onto his lap. He wrapped his arms around her, bringing her closer. She felt his growing erection and pulled away to catch her breath.

"This would be much easier in bed." She said.

John kissed her again before taking her hand and leading her to the bedroom.

* * *

_John's eyes fluttered open and he moved his arm, gasping when he realised they were secured to the headboard. He glanced up, his heart beating fast at being held down._

_"Don't be afraid." Came the deep voice from the darkness, reverberating slightly as if in an empty room._

_As if stepping into the light, Sherlock appeared by the bed in just a pair of loose pajama pants. He grinned down, his eyes sparkling in the soft light. John went to say something but the other held a long, slender finger to his lips._

_"No. Do not speak."_

_John nodded slightly, his body thrumming with sudden desire as the brunette pressed the fingertip to the seam of John's lips, an eyebrow cocked in obvious expectation. The blonde parted his lips and the digit slid passed the soft lips and into his moist mouth._

_"Suck it."_

_John suckled at it carefully, his eyes never leaving the glittering ones of his flatmate._

_"Very good." Sherlock murmured, pulling the finger from his mouth and sliding it down John's chest until it was at the waistband of his trousers._

_"You're a great pet." Sherlock murmured as he leaned over and kissed John._

* * *

John woke up with a jolt. He looked around the room, which was glowing with the sunlight that filtered in. He lifted the sheet slightly and groaned. He had actually ejaculated in his sleep. He looked next to him to see that Mary was still asleep, thankfully.

The blonde laid in bed thinking about his dream. He had dreamed of Sherlock, his flat mate. He had Mary and loved her deeply but not only had he dreamed of Sherlock, he also thought of the tall brunette while with his girlfriend last night, and it improved the feeling exceptionally. He felt guilty for he had only known the man a few days. He heard Mary wake up and smiled, she turned to look at John.

"Morning." She said smiling; John couldn't bring himself to look at Mary, "John, you okay?"

"Yeah." He sat up and got out of bed; he went to the bathroom and started the shower. Mary found that odd, they usually shower together and he wouldn't even make eye contact with her. She got dressed and made breakfast, she thought about the way he talked about his flat mate. John came out to the kitchen.

"You want some breakfast?" Mary asked.

"Yeah, that would be wonderful." John smiled; he sat at the table as Mary brought him breakfast. She noticed he was still not quite making eye contact with her. She looked at the time and ate her breakfast.

"I better go, my flat mate might be out of his silent mood."

"Okay." Mary said, kissing him before he left; she watched the blonde leave out the door.

* * *

**winterimperfect wrote the dream.**


	9. Chapter 9

John sat peacefully in a small café, sipping his early grey tea and watching the people pass. He didn't quite wish to go home just yet, for his silent companion had haunted his dreams and thoughts and made him rather uneasy. He was in the middle of contemplating his emotions towards said flatmate when his phone vibrated.

**Where are you? I've been talking to you for an hour. SH**

John furrowed his brow as he stared at the text. Had he not notice his leaving last night? He went to just shove it back in his pocket but let out a sigh. He replied,

**I left last night. Didn't you notice? I'm at a cafe on Oxford.**

John shoved his phone in his pocket and took a large gulp of tea before glowering out the window. He didn't even notice when he left? What was up with this man. This eccentric, beautiful man?

His hand slipped from under his chin at that last thought and he jolted in displeasure over his mind wandering to such inappropriate topics that his mind really shouldn't touch.

His phone buzzed once again.

**I was too busy thinking to note such pointless things.**

**Come home at once, my friend's silence makes it impossible to get feedback on my inquiries.**

**SH**

"What friend?" John muttered, never meeting any such friend of this insufferably arrogant man.

**I don't see why you need me. Why not just ask Lestrade?**

John was about to get up after putting his phone in his pocket when it vibrated once again.

**I need someone of higher intelligence than average. Lestrade doesn't have that. SH**

John rolled his eyes, refused to reply to such things and slowly began making his way down Oxford and up Baker Street. When he arrived, he entered the flat and looked at Sherlock, whom was sitting on his armchair applying a nicotine patch to his arm, which was already covered in them. He was about to ask whom this 'friend' of his was when the curly haired man glanced at one of the skulls on the mantle and muttered, "When the hell is he going to show up? I'm bored waiting."

A skull was his friend. Well, that didn't quite surprise him. The man was insufferable, no human could probably handle him daily.

"I'm right here, Sherlock. You don't notice me leaving nor my return. Am I just a wall to you?" John demanded, arms crossed as he thrust his chin out in an act of utter defiance to the haughty man before him.

"I'm too busy thinking about this case and the mystery behind it rather than whom you go out and bed."

John's face flushed and he went to walk right back out the door to never return when he heard a whimper upstairs.

"Did you take Gladstone for a walk?" John asked suddenly, looking at Sherlock with horror.

"Why would I? He's your dog. You're the one whom left."

John cursed under his breath and hurried upstairs. He opened his door and put a hand over his mouth. Gladstone had went on the floor, understandably. He sighed and let Gladstone out of his room to annoy Sherlock as he set about cleaning up the mess the dog had left.

Once finished, he took Gladstone for a quick walk before settling into the den with an impatient and irritable Sherlock.

"It's about time. When I say I need to go over key details, I mean it. Seriously, your dog is more important than a serial killing?" Sherlock muttered, standing up and pacing the length of the room.

John just ignored him, looking at him expectantly. Sherlock took a deep breath and began his long ramble from the top.

"From what I understand so far of the case, it goes something like this. Mid afternoon a man jumps into an open window, surprises the woman, removes her clothing, ties her up and while she's still alive he cuts her methodically before slicing her neck open. Once she bleeds out into a cup or chalice placed under her neck and passes due to exsanguination, he slices the wrists and ankles until they're nearly amputated. Then in the middle of the night another woman is abducted and treated the same way, but this time dragged to a park and her eyes removed. What is the purpose of this? Why do they carve the victim in such a way and what is the meaning of that symbol on the abdomen? What say you?"

"I do believe what you said at Slade Gardens is correct. I do believe it's a cult."

Sherlock gave John a droll look before stating, "I was hoping for more helpful responses."

John glared at the tall man who started pacing once again.

"What is the meaning of the cuts? How do they choose who they kill? What purpose do the women serve? Does it have to be women? If it's a cult, is it blood sacrifice? Which cult is it? There aren't really any cults out today..."

John looked as Sherlock stared blankly out the window. "Why is Lestrade here? Is there another body so soon?"

The blonde looked at the door to see the DI cresting the stairs and heading into their flat.

"Sherlock. I have something you might find interesting and that I have a feeling has to do with this case."

Sherlock cocked a brow and regarded Lestrade, whom handed him a piece of paper in a plastic bag.

"Don't remove it from the bag, but I do believe it's a cypher and I have a feeling it's from our cult."

Sherlock looked at it, studying it. John got up and looked at it from the side, staring at the odd symbols. It seemed to be various astrological symbols as well as strange hieroglyphs of sorts.

"What does it say?" John asked, looking between the men.

Lestrade shrugged, "None of my men could crack it. I know you love cyphers and are rather quick at them, so I gave it to you as soon as I could."

Sherlock nodded, staring at the piece of paper as if it held the secrets of the universe. "If you get any more, I want them to be handed to me immediately."

Lestrade nodded and left quickly. Sherlock went to the dinning room table and placed the cypher on the table and pulled out a pad of paper and a pencil. He looked up at John, "I'm going to be very busy and I don't have time to talk. Ignore me and don't interrupt me, alright? If you go to see that woman, take Gladstone with you because I surely will not take care of it. Good night."

John stared blankly at the man whom seemed to have tuned out the world in an instant and got to work on the cypher. He sighed and went up to his room. It would be a long night.

* * *

**Winterimperfect wrote the chapter.**


	10. Chapter 10

ohn woke up the next morning and saw Gladstone was still asleep; he lay in bed after having another dream of Sherlock. He barely thought about Mary since he met Sherlock. He had a feeling of guilt over it. John got out of bed and put Gladstone's food out for him. He went down to make breakfast, only wearing his pajama pants; Sherlock was still studying the cypher. John made his tea and saw there was no food, so he had his tea, just staring at the brunette knowing Sherlock wouldn't notice him. He thought for a moment; maybe he liked Sherlock Holmes, but the man was so insufferable and rude. He push the thought away and went upstairs to get dressed.

"Gladstone! You're finally up… I need to take you for a walk, boy." John said quickly pulling a shirt on and putting his shoes and socks on. He hooked Gladstone to the lead and quickly took him for a short walk. After getting Gladstone in and putting him back in the bedroom, he made sure he had the card still.

* * *

He was in the grocery store looking around and another cart hit his, he looked up and saw it was Mary.

"John, long time no see." She said smiling.

"Yeah, realised we were out of food." John said, giving her a half smile.

"I don't see how you can afford anything since you don't have any income."

She grabbed something off the shelf.

"Oh yeah, Sherlock pays for everything right now."

"Ah… Well I can give you a ride home after you're done." She offered, John nodded.

They went around the store together and she looked at him. "That's all your favorite food, does he eat the same thing?"

"Oh, right… He doesn't really eat a lot of food." John explained. Mary gave him this odd look, "What?"

"He barely eats? He must be very skinny." She remarked.

"He is not that skinny, he's actually pretty toned." John retorted, she looked at John strangely. He stopped talking and went back to his thoughts of what to get while mentally he was kicking himself for the comment. He made sure he had everything before he went to the self serve. Mary queued behind him as he waited for the woman in front to pay for her stuff. He had a feeling Mary already thought he liked his flatmate. He couldn't understand why she thought that, though, and pushed it out of his mind as he bagged and paid for his groceries. Mary scanned hers at another self-serve and paid before she walked up to him

"Come on." Mary said. John nodded and followed her, putting his bags into the boot of the car.

They sat in relative silence in the car, John staring blankly out the window, never hearing Mary talking to him until she called his names a few times.

"John? You're not paying attention."

"My mind's preoccupied." John said.

"Well, we better get you home." Mary smiled at him.

* * *

Mary parked in front of 221b, she looked at it and then at John. He got out of the car and she let out a sigh, she got out of her car and went to help him. He opened the door and the two went up the steps and once they entered the flat, John saw Sherlock looking at his phone, Mary looked over at the man. He was grinning and quickly got up getting ready to leave from the looks of it. John saw Sherlock heading towards the steps and was about to say something.

"There's been another murder. Coming?" Sherlock called over his shoulder, not waiting for an answer and hurrying down the stairs.

John let out a sigh and hurried quickly after him, forgetting about Mary and the groceries. She looked in shock at the door; he had just left without a word! Since when did he want to go to a crime scene? She started to wonder who this Sherlock was. Mary sighed and went to the fridge to put the food away.

From her apartment, Mrs. Hudson was startled from her afternoon telly by a scream of abject horror.


	11. Chapter 11

John settled into the cab, huffing before glancing at Sherlock, "So, where to? What's going on? Any luck with the cypher?"

"Welbeck street. Body. No. Why did you leave that woman in our flat?"

"Oh, no, Mary!" John gasped, pulling out his phone and sending a text of apology. "I can't believe I forgot her!"

**Why is there a severed head in the refrigerator?!**

"Ah, she went in the refrigerator, did she?" Sherlock murmured, looking over John's shoulder at the text. The blonde quickly moved away from the nosy man and sent back another apologetic text before putting his phone on silent and pocketing it.

"So, is it in a flat, the body?" John asked, looking out the window.

"The street." Sherlock murmured, sending a text and pocketing his phone. "Keep an eye out for suspicious people, I have a feeling we might see one of the murderers."

John looked at the brunette in a pensive manner but took the hint.

They arrived shortly, the duo alighted the cab and walked up to Lestrade whom was standing next to a black fence.

"She was found here this morning, grisly sight I imagine." Lestrade muttered, looking down at the nude mutilated women.

Sherlock crouched down and studied her. She was short, same age group as the others with brown hair. The incisions were nearly identical to the first body, though the lips of this woman were taken. He didn't need to study it much longer and stood up.

"It's the same as the first murder." He murmured, looking around the street and studying a few of the fences, doors and stairs. He muttered under his breath the entire time until he squinted and slid one pale hand through the slats in the fence and pulled out a paper and studied it, beckoning Lestrade over. John went to take a look when someone stood in front of him.

"Excuse me, I need to talk to you for a second."

John looked up at the man blocking his way. He was roughly six foot and built like a brick and had a rather sinister air about him.

"Sorry, I don't know anything about this." He replied, trying to walk around the guy, "Sherlock, can yo-"

A rough hand slapped over his mouth and he was being forcebly dragged down the street. His eyes quickly darted to the forensics and officers, but none paid him any mind. He tried to wrench himself from the grip but the man was like a boulder and refused to budge. He took a deep breath before he quickly put himself off balance and jabbed the man in the side.

The man cursed and let go of him for a split second and he tried to tackle the guy but the man was faster than he thought he was and slammed a fist into the side of his head. The scuffle finally got the attention it should have and a few of the forensic team glanced in his direction, but none bothered to come forward, going back to their work.

"Sher..lock.." He gasped out, his vision swimming from the blow. He stumbled and felt a sinewy arm catch him about the middle.

"Steady yourself, John." He heard the deep baritone before it continued, "What is the meaning of punching my partner in the head?"

John tried to lift his head to look at his companion, but his vision blurred and he felt nauseaus. He felt himself being lowered to the ground and the voices of Sherlock and his attacker blurred into a monotonous sound. He squinted as he studied the quick blurs of black before him but soon John found himself slumped and passed out on the wall.

–

"John. John. Wake up."

John slowly opened his eyes and stared into glittering green eyes which held a strong look of concern in an otherwise stoic face.

"Are you all right? The man is in custody, but he doesn't seem to be part of this cult. Did you recognize him?"

John groggily shook his head, never seeing that man in his life.

"Peculiar. You should be happy to note that you do not have a concussion." Sherlock murmured, standing up with a hand pressed to his lips. "There was another cypher. I have a feeling the man was trying to draw you away in hopes of someone getting the cypher off of me. That person never showed up, pity, I bet he knew more on what was going on and what these cyphers are. Oh well, nothing like a good mystery."

John shook his head and stood up, stumbling and once again finding himself pressed against the svelte body of his companion. "Steady, John. There is nothing more to find here, let us head back home, though I will leave shortly after. Will you be all right on your own?"

John nodded, his hands braced against soft, yet bony, hips. His heart began to palpitate as an arm wrapped around his shoulders and guided him towards a cab that had been hailed, helping him in. His heart nearly soared when the tall man sat directly next to him, their thighs touching and the other refusing to let him go. The three minute ride felt like heaven, and it was rather alarming to him.

They got out of the cab and made their way back into their flat, Sherlock making sure John was steady and no longer dizzy before he regarded the dark haired woman whom was still in their flat.

"I trust you to take care of him. If you do not, you don't want to know what will become of you." Sherlock sniffed before leaving the flat once again.

* * *

**winterimperfect wrote the chapter.**


	12. Chapter 12

Mary stared in the direction Sherlock had left, alarmed by what the tall brunette had said. She wondered what had happened for the man to be so protective of John. She looked at John, who looked dazed and confused. She went over to him, sitting next to him on the couch. He barely looked like he was paying attention. She grabbed his hand and he looked at her, but he was out of it.

"John, what happened?" she asked, concerned.

"Someone tried to, um… kidnap me and I got punched in the head." John explained. "Well I think they were trying to kidnap me."

"Let me check your head out." Mary insisted.

"I am fine; someone already did check it out."

"Good, Now why did you just leave me here!" Mary growled out, "How could you forget I was here?"

"Look, I'm sorry." John apologized.

"You just left without a word! Where were you going that was so important?"

"A crime scene." John explained

"A crime scene? Since when do you go to crime scenes?"

"The murders are linked to my mum's murder. I am helping Sherlock find the murderer."

"I see. The same man you deny you like." Mary remarked. John looked up at her, annoyed.

"I don't like him! He's just my flat mate that I am thankful of!" John all but yelled.

"John! The way you talk about the man shows it and you left me here to follow him." Mary pointed out.

"What is your point? I love you." John went up to her, she kept her distance. "I only want to be with you!"

"Really? Describe Sherlock exactly how you see him."

John looked at her almost surprised.

John took a deep breath, "He is brilliant and those curls, his pale skin… There's something about his eyes." John smiled, "He's the most insufferable man I know but he is nice in his own way and his…" The blonde trailed off thinking. Sherlock's touch had felt wonderful, like he was in heaven. It was in that moment he realised she was right; he looked at Mary and sighed.

"You see? You just didn't realise it. Look at two nights ago. You weren't thinking of me, were you?"

"No. I was thinking of Sherlock… I even had a wet dream about him that night." John went and sat back down. "I just feel so bad. I am supposed to be with you but all think about is him."

"John. I am not mad at you for being attracted to another guy… I have to admit, the man looks good, but he keeps a bloody head in the fridge!"

"He's different, he's rude and doesn't really think about others feelings... But he is a good guy"

"He sure seems to care about you." Mary said. John looked at her, "You didn't hear it. He said, and I quote, 'I trust you to take care of him. If you do not, you don't want to know what will become of you.'"

"He said that…" He smiled. The man was protective of him only after a few days.

"I can't understand how you can keep it all together… I mean, you lost your mum and moved in with the rudest man I have ever met." She sniffed.

"Because I want to make sure mum gets justice for what that man did to her. I saw her body and he tortured her." He let a few tears fall, "She didn't deserve that and if I can help him… At least it's something."

"It's a good way to use your medical skills, but seeing your mom's body can't be easy."

"No, I got sick but I got past it… You know she would want me to move forward."

"John. You won't like what I have to say, and I know this is horrible timing," Mary paused and took a deep breath, "I think we should break up."

"Why!" John asked.

"Really? You want to shag your flatmate!

"So, you're just going to break up with me."

"Yes. Look, if things don't work out between you and Sherlock… Maybe we could get back together, but I doubt anything will ever be the same." Mary explained.

"I just… I just don't want to lose you." John said.

"I am a phone call away if you need to talk."

"Right. You probably should get home… You have school tomorrow." She nodded, hugging John before she left. John heard Gladstone in Sherlock's room and he went to the room and found Gladstone on the bed; John smiled and went over to pet him.

"What are you doing in here?" He asked, "You shouldn't be in here. Sherlock won't be happy about this."

John took a deep breath. He was falling hard and fast for Sherlock Holmes. He wasn't sure if there was a chance for them to ever be more than flat mates or friends. He didn't even know if they were friends at this point. He thought he heard Sherlock call him his partner after he had gotten hit in the head, but he wasn't sure. John got up, getting Gladstone off the bed and closing the door as they left the room.

* * *

**Hope you enjoy!**


	13. Chapter 13

Sherlock sighed as he glanced at the note he'd just received from the informant from the homeless network. It's just as he thought. He pulled out one of the cyphers and hovered under a street-lamp to glance it over quickly before taking off down the road and cutting down a side street. He stopped, looked at the cypher again and glanced at the street name. Indeed, that was what the cypher was saying. It was the drop off location.

He smiled and tapped a finger to his chin as he made his way towards where the latest body was found, but quickly slid into the shadows when he noticed a figure hovering around the fence he found the cypher at. He watched the figure, studying it carefully. It was definitely the one whom killed the first and third victims. The height and walking pattern matched. With a curse, the cloaked figure stood upright and hurried off down the street. Sherlock waited shortly before stealthily hurrying after him, keeping his footsteps light as he rounded the corner. Much to the brunette's chagrin, the cloaked figure was nowhere in sight. He quickly looked down the alleys and adjacent streets but that man simply disappeared.

"More like removed his cloak." Sherlock muttered under his breath as he studied the people on the streets but not seeing anyone walking like the suspect. He took one last look before hailing a cab and heading back to his flat. He needed to finish up this cypher, for the second one wasn't matching the other bodies locations.

He briskly walked to the door and entered the building, hurrying up the stairs and entering the flat with a flourish. He quickly removed his coat and scarf and sat down in his armchair, placing the cyphers on the table with a notebook and a pen.

John walked down the stairs and glanced at Sherlock, going to ask where he went but kept silent when he saw the man muttering to himself and scribbling furiously in the notebook. He quietly made his way into the kitchen to prepare himself some tea. He made one for Sherlock as well and placed it on the table in front of him. The other man didn't acknowledge his presence or seemed to notice he placed the cup there. The blonde shrugged, smiled secretively to himself as he stared at the messy curls and rapidly moving eyes and hand before he made his way back to his room.

He entered his room and sat down on the edge of the bed; the blonde grabbed his phone and looked through his contacts. He pressed send after selecting a number and waited for the other person when he heard the other line pick up.

"Hey, John." The other said happily.

"Hey, Mike. I thought I'd see how you were doing." John said.

"I am fine, how you holding up?"

"Um… I am okay."

"I am sure Mary called you at least. I told her about your mum."

"Yeah, we just broke up." John stated.

"What? Why?" Mike asked shocked.

"I, um, like someone else."

"Who?" Mike asked, curious.

"My new flat mate." John simply answered.

"Okay, who is this new flat mate of yours? She must be worth it for you and Mary to break up."

"His name Sherlock, he's a consulting detective."

"He? Okay... Is he good looking at least?" Mike asked teasingly.

At first John wasn't going to answer but decide to, "Yes, he is. He is also a genius and rather eccentric."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, um, he doesn't seem to like to be social and he can be really rude."

"Do you think he is worth your time?" Mike asked.

"I don't know. Anyways, how is school going?" John asked, trying to change the subject.

"Normal. Everyone's wondering when you will return to school."

"I don't know. I am hoping next term but um… I am not sure yet."

"Wasn't your mom paying for your tuition?"

"Yeah, I will have to apply for a scholarship and maybe student loans." The blonde stated.

"I got some homework to get done, but I am glad you called. Talk to you later?"

"Yeah later." The line went dead; he looked at his phone and started to play a game.

* * *

John quickly glanced up as the door to his room opened roughly and his flatmates figure filled the doorway.

"John, get off your phone. We have somewhere to go." Sherlock demanded before turning on his heel and going down the stairs.

"Sure. Why not. It's not like I was doing anything!" John called out, pocketing his phone.

He muttered expletives under his breath as he ruffled Gladstone's fur and pulled on a pair of socks before hurrying down the stairs. Sherlock was standing stiffly by the door, impatiently staring at the smaller man as he hurriedly put on his shoes and grabbed his coat.

"All right, I'm ready. Now, where are we going?" John asked after he straightened up and looked expectantly at Sherlock, whom just lifted a folded piece of paper as if it answered everything and hurried down the stairs and out onto the street.

John followed the brunette down a few streets before Sherlock hailed a cab and quickly said an address so fast he couldn't catch where they were going. He huffed, wondering if the eccentric man was doing it on purpose so he wouldn't know where they were headed. They finally pulled up in front of a dark, run down building a half hour later and Sherlock alighted after paying the cabbie. John followed close behind and the cab drove off while the brunette shuffled in his pocket until he pulled out the yellowed page covered in glyphs and held it up to the light before looking at the address and the street name.

"This is it." He murmured before stuffing the cypher back in his pocket and walking confidently towards the door. He stared at it a few minutes before he chuckled and simply pushed the door open.

"Weren't expecting me, were they?" He mused as he stepped in. The blonde followed carefully, keeping an eye and ear out for anything strange.

Their steps echoed throughout the seemingly abandoned building and Sherlock began to snoop around. His magnifying glass was out and he was wandering about muttering things. John stood back and let him work, studying the place himself and looking for possible threats. It was a large, dark, empty room with stairs and a small metal landing leading to a second floor; the only light filtering in from high, broken windows. His eyes continued to trail about until he noticed a door on the second floor emblazoned with the flower symbol he recalled the corpses having.

"Sherlock." He called out, trying to get the tall man's attention.

"What is it, John? I am rather busy at the moment." Sherlock snapped, sending him a warning glance over his shoulder.

"It's just.. That door up there has the symbol we've seen carved on the victims." John stated, pointing up to the door. The brunette followed with his eyes and stared at the door.

"Good, John. Let's go take a look, shall we?" Sherlock replied, his eyes glittering with intrigue.

Sherlock silently made his way up the stairs, John close behind, until he was on the small landing. They carefully made their way to the door, peeked through the window to see all was clear, and pulled it open. They slipped inside and John covered his nose. It smelled something awful. The only sign that Sherlock was just as disgusted was the crinkles on his nose as he sneered slightly. The room was pitch black and completely silent. He heard a scuffling sound before a click resounded and the room flashed white. John hissed, putting his hands over his eyes at the brightness. After a few blinks, his vision focused and he looked around. Sherlock had already made his way down the catwalk and was studying something on the wall. John's eyes swept across the room, taking in the walkway that covered the perimeter of the room, leaving a large viewing window into the room below. The walls were covered in various symbols in black paint. He breathed through his mouth to get past the horrid stench, but all that did was make him taste it instead. It tasted metallic and rotten. His nose wrinkled as he continued to look around.

"John, I don't suggest looking down." Came the crisp baritone from the other side of the room.

The blonde cocked a brow and looked at the consulting detective, whom was scratching some of the black paint into a small bag before pocketing it. John's eyebrows furrowed in confusion and decided to go against the warning and peered over the railing to the room below and instantly pressed a hand to his mouth as he gagged. His eyes widened, his pupils dilating; he started to perspire while his heart began to palpitate wildly.

It was hard to describe the horrors he saw from above, but the best word to use was crimson. The entire floor was covered in blood. The table in the middle that had leather restraints attached to it with groves in it that let out to the floor was stained horribly black. Thin strips of meat littered the floor and a large chalice rested on it's side beside the table. Amongst all the blood and flesh, stark against the concrete floor was the obvious signs of some sort of pentagram.

"I told you not to look."

The deep voice snapped John out of his shell-shocked state and he fell back from the railing, sprawling on the floor as his stomach lurched. He scrambled out of the still opened door and gulped in the stale air on the other side. He did not want to go back in that abominable room.

"Calm?"

He looked up to see the glittering pale green eyes staring back at him with a slight look of concern swimming in them. John nodded, shakily standing up and taking in a deep breath.

"Good. We need to investigate the room downstairs now." Sherlock stated, his lips twitching in excitement as he hurried down the stairs and strode to the door.

"Really? We're going in there? Sure. Why not. It's not like it's absolutely disgusting!" John muttered, following at a much more subdued pace.

By the time he made it to the heavily marked door, Sherlock had already gone in and was fluttering about, looking at everything, taking samples, pictures and rifling about.

John slowly walked in, noting the smell was less pungent down here and began looking around. He noticed a utility trolley by the side and made his way to it, studying the alarming amount of blades and weapons that covered the top. He hissed slightly as he touched one and it sliced his finger open.

He heard a scuffle and turned around quickly to see what happened just in time to see a cloaked figure slamming his companion in the back.

"Sherlock!"

* * *

**I wrote the conversation part only winterimperfect worte the rest.**


	14. Chapter 14

**Please Review! We would like to know what you think of the story! **

* * *

Sherlock fell to the floor, grasping at the counter as he attempted to right himself, only for the cloaked man to grab him by the back of his coat and throw him back onto the floor, straddling him and wrapping his hands around the long white neck. Sherlock tried to push the man off but was effectively pinned and loosing oxygen fast.

John stared on with wide eyes before he gasped and swung into action. He grabbed a pair of brass knuckles that lay on the trolley and slid them on before he ran and tackled the man off Sherlock, pressing him to the floor in a similar manner. John restrained the man's wrists above his head and the hood spilled around the man's head, exposing his weasel-like face. The blonde pulled his fist back before slamming it into the man's face, punching continuously regardless of the blood until the man was out cold.

John heaved as he slowly, sluggishly, stood up and stared down at the bloodied man. He let the knuckles fall from his hand before turning and looking at Sherlock, whom was gasping and sputtering while leaning heavily on his left elbow and facing the floor.

The blonde rushed forward and sank to the floor in front of the brunette and reached for his face, cupping it between his hands and making the other look at him.

"You all right?"

Sherlock stared at him, not gracing him with an answer as he continued to wheeze and rub his throat. John's eyes shone with unshed tears, the relief and the worry filling him until he just didn't care and he leaned forward, pressing his lips to the still, full lips of his flatmate. John pulled away, looking up hesitantly at the other, whom simply quirked a brow before standing up and brushing himself off.

"No time for such things, John. Help me find some rope to tie him up with."

John sighed and got up, helping Sherlock rummage around until they found a good length of rope. They quickly tied the man up and made sure he couldn't get loose before Sherlock pulled out his phone and informed Lestrade that one of the cults-men was incapacitated and to come collect him.

"Before they come," Sherlock murmured while slipping his mobile in his pocket, "Let's get some evidence to continue the lead. Look for anything interesting, especially if they're cyphers."

John nodded and made his way to the opposite side of the room to study what was there and take pictures of other bits. He took a photo of the chalice- which had glyphs on it- the items on the trolley and many other things, but found nothing of interest.

"Let's go."

John looked up, staring at the other incredulously, but stopped shortly as he saw a few new glyphs in his hand.

"John. This isn't the time to stand around, we have leads to follow." Sherlock stated, briskly walking from the room and out of the building, John hurrying after.

"All right, next we shoul-"

"No, Sherlock. You need to rest. You lost too much oxygen to the brain, I rather you stay at home tonight and continue on tomorrow."

"There is simply no time to do such frivolous things. Come, now, John. Leads to follow, mysteries to solve. My health can wai-" Sherlock stumbled mid-rant, his hand landing over his eyes as his other held tightly onto John's shoulder.

"I told you. Let's get you home."

Sherlock went to express his displeasure but a fierce look from his companion shut the tall man up. He sighed and followed John into the cab.

"Stop sulking. There's nothing you can do if you're in bad shape. One night won't change anything."

"It can change everything, John. It only takes an hour for evidence to diminish."

"You can decipher the cyphers tonight so you don't have to take a moment to translate it. Sounds logical to me."

Sherlock sighed, crossing his arms for his friend had a point. He huffed and conceded to the man's will much to his chagrin.

Once they arrived on Baker Street they quickly entered their flat and John set about the den, placing pens, notepads and other miscellaneous items about on the table in front of the armchair before bustling into the kitchen to make some tea. Sherlock cocked a brow before settling himself into his armchair and pulling the cyphers from his pocket, spreading them out on the table in no particular order before bending over them and studying them, pulling out a sheet of paper and placing it between the cyphers and the notebook.

John smiled in his direction before he continued to make the tea, stirring in a little sugar before picking up the cup and carrying it back to the den, placing it near Sherlock, but not in a place he could knock it over.

"Thanks." Sherlock murmured, a quick glance at the blonde, before he went back to translating the cyphers onto the notebook.

John smiled before settling at the table, pulling his laptop towards himself and surfing the web as the other furiously worked. He opened his blog and began typing out a page for his friend's benefit. Explaining his mother's death, how he's holding up and why he's not in school. His few friends followed his blog and he smiled as he thought of a few amusing moments he had back at school. In all honesty, he missed his simple school life where he worked hard to become a doctor, but nothing could replace the adrenaline rush the case gave him nor the way Sherlock made his heart sore when he brilliantly deduced things others didn't. He sighed to himself and continued typing away.

* * *

A few hours had passed, Sherlock was still furiously scribbling in the notebook, a few cyphers pushed to the side. On occasion he would lean back and close his eyes, muttering under his breath and sometimes moving a finger as if going over an invisible map in the air. John watched, intrigued, but let the man his privacy and went back to his computer. He pulled up Facebook to see if any of his friends were on for a quick chat or phone call. He pursed his lips as he opened the chat bar and scrolled through his contacts until he saw Mary was on. He bit his lower lip and went to get off when he got a message from his now ex girlfriend.

**Mary: How are you doing?**

**John: Fine, how have you been?**

**Mary: Okay, school has been busy.**

**John: Yeah, I miss school.**

**Mary: Really?**

**John: Yeah.**

**Mary: Has anything happened between you and Sherlock yet?**

John wasn't sure about answering the question but what did he have to hide from her? She already knew about how he felt about Sherlock. She was the one who realised it first, after all.

**John: Um… I kissed him.**

**Mary: What was his reaction?**

**John: He ignored it.**

**Mary: Seriously? He ignored it? He didn't say anything about it.**

**John: It was sudden, someone tried killing him.**

**Mary: … Is he alright?**

**John: Yes, and I am fine too. I beat the man.**

**Mary: Never known you to fight.**

**John: The guy tried killing the man I love.**

He had just typed that. He admitted he was in love with the man. In love? He was in love with the man Strange, it didn't take long.

**Mary: Love?**

**John: Um… you know what I mean.**

**Mary: John, if you love him that much you should tell him.**

**John: I will, but probably after the case. I better go I am sure you have homework.**

**Mary: Yeah, talk later.**

John let out a sigh as he closed the browser window, his hand over his eyes as he sighed deeply. He didn't really need that. He looked at his flatmate, whom was still writing with wild eyes as his fingers deftly moved over the glyphs, and felt his heart constrict. He reached for the cup of tea and to his surprise it was empty.

"It was good, thank you."

John nearly dropped the cup, not expecting the deep baritone.

"You're welcome." He murmured, smiling as he took the cup to the sink and rinsed it, putting it in the strainer.

"Good night. Please stay in until tomorrow." John said quietly before ascending the stairs and disappearing into his room.

* * *

**Winterimperfect wrote the chapter (i just wrote the conversation between Mary and John)**


	15. Chapter 15

When John came down the next morning, he frowned to see the flat empty. A note lay on the now clean coffee table and he padded over to it, picking it up and reading in a neat cursive:

**_Went to track down some leads. I waited until five o'clock in the morning. Hope it suffices._**

**_Don't wait up for me._**

**_SH_**

John smiled, chuckling slightly at the image of the stiff man hand writing a note rather then sending a text to his phone. He went about his day, spending a majority of the time in front of the telly or computer, taking it easy.

* * *

Sherlock was making his way to one of the address he deciphered and felt his breath leave him as a child rammed into his stomach. The boy whispered something and shoved a note in his hand before calling out, "Sorry, in a hurry!"

The brunette rubbed his stomach idly before making his way to a side street and opening the note. He read it over carefully before pulling out his lighter and setting it alight. He snuffed it with his shoe when it was nothing but black ashes and made his way down a series of streets before he passed a woman, murmuring, "It's a strange way for people on the fly."

She called out for change and he made a quick show of money, sneaking a note into the cuff of his jacket before making his way down the street until he slid into another side street and glanced at the note. He smiled and shoved the note deep in his pocket before hurrying down the street in the opposite direction.

Things were getting interesting.

He pulled out his notes and made his way to one of the street names he deciphered and noted that no murders had taken place. He rubbed his jaw and nodded. The pieces were coming together. He pulled out the two he hadn't had the time to decipher and made his way into a café where he sat down with a tea and began going over what they were saying. He sat back quickly after he made out what they said and his eyes lit with glee.

He pulled out his phone and started punching out a text to John.

**Two of the cyphers explain the reason they're murdering women. They're human sacrifices.**

**It's to satisfy their living God. It's his orders. We're dealing with something akin to**

**Charles Manson. This is getting interesting, but keep on your toes, John, for one of the**

**cyphers calls for your demise. Do stay inside and away from windows until I finish this case.**

**SH**

He went to put his mobile away when it vibrated. He hit the talk button and held it to his ear.

"Lestrade?"

"Sherlock. He escaped. I don't know how, but the cult-freak escaped. Be on your guard, he was muttering about how it's their God's orders to kill John and his freak boyfriend, whom I'm assuming is you. Be on the look out. Is John with you?"

"He's not. One of the cyphers said he was a target so I warned him." Sherlock replied, briskly making his way to the street and striding down the street at a fast pace, heading towards his flat. He had a feeling in the pit of his stomach that something was deathly wrong.

"Lestrade, I have to let you go. I need to get to John." Sherlock said quickly, hitting the end button and pocketing his mobile before taking off at a run down Oxford.

His flat was in sight when he slowed down and growled under his breath as he saw John outside, obviously waiting for him.

"What did I say abou-" He began before something was pulled over his head.

He went to elbow the man behind him but felt something jab into the side of his neck. He hissed in pain and tried to get out of the grip of the person holding him. He heard John shriek his name before he was lifted and tossed into what he could only assume was a car. He felt the car speed down the street and his head began to swim.

"_They drugged me."_ He hissed, trying to struggle out of his restraints but soon fell into blackness.

* * *

"Sherlock!" John screamed as he saw two tall men in cloaks pull a black bag over his flatmates head.

He began running in their direction but it was too late. They had already drugged and restrained him and threw him into the waiting car. However, he wasn't about to give up. He took off running after the vehicle, able to keep up for the first couple of streets but congestion on the side walks slowed him down and he lost the vehicle. He cursed and tried to figure out where they went. When he didn't see them no matter what street he looked down, he began questioning people to if they saw a grey Vauxhall drive by.

A few people directed where they recalled one heading and bolted down that direction, recognizing the area to where they had been the previous night. He was about to cross the street when a hand grasped his arm. He spun around and looked behind himself, ready to fight if it was one of the cult members, but was surprised to see the dark hair and blue eyes of his ex-girlfriend.

"John where you going in a hurry? And in a such panic?" She asked.

"I can't really explain right now but Sherlock's in trouble!" John said, getting out of her grip.

"Trouble?! Did you call the police?"

"Not yet but I will explain later!" The blond said.

He hurried across the street and made his way to the deserted building they had been in not even twenty-four hours prior. He took a deep breath and pulled out his phone, scrolling to find a particular number and pressing talk. The phone rang a few times before the call connected.

"Lestrade? It's John. Sherlock got kidnapped by the cult. He's in the building from last night. Yes, the abandoned butchery. Please, hurry. No, I won't wait, I'm sorry. He's too important to me and could be dead already for all I know. Yes. He is that important to me. Thank you."

John hung up and looked at the intimidating building before taking a deep breath.

"Wait for me, Sherlock. I'm coming."

* * *

**Winterimperfect wrote the chapter so PLEASE review! (I swear it looks like my spelling is off today, i think my mind has runaway that and i found myself dancing which isn't normal for me.) So PLEASE review we really like to know what you think! pretty PLEASE!**


	16. Chapter 16

John carefully pulled open the door, taking great care to be as soundless and silent as possible. He pulled the door closed behind him and carefully made his way to the door of the back room, staying in the shadows. He held his breath and stayed perfectly still when he heard voices and saw three men in cloaks leave the main room and head to the stairs, all the while murmuring among themselves over the final sacrifice before their God ascends back to the heavens.

John looked towards the open door that led to the table and felt his blood run cold. His breath sped up and he slapped a hand over his mouth to silence himself as the men were still near him, filing single file up the stairs and up to the observatory as they called it.

Once the heavy door above slammed shut, he stealthily made his way to the door and peered inside. From what he could see there was a body on the table, nude, and a single cult member hovering around him. He was talking in a language he didn't know, some foreign tongue, and he had a feeling it was a chant of sorts for other voices soon joined his. He assumed the entirety of the cult was on the second floor.

He began to form a plan in his head. In order to get Sherlock to safety, he had to find a way to lock them all up there. His eyes swept the barren room, loosing hope of a stick or anything to jam the upper door with when he noticed a door under the stairs.

He wondered if it was a broom cupboard and if it was worth the risk of being seen, but decided it was. He checked to see if the man was looking in his direction and his breath caught in his throat as the cults-man had moved out of the way and he saw the nude body was the pale, svelte body of his flatmate. He choked back a sob as he saw the thin cuts that began the ritual shining bright on his white skin. Around the neck, wrists, feet and hips were the ribbon-like initial cuts that he recalled seeing on all the bodies. Next would be his face if what he saw was correct.

He nodded to himself and quickly, quietly, darted past the door and to the stairs, trying the handle and hoping the cupboard was open. He sighed in relief when it opened, but it let out a squeak and he froze, waiting for the cult to come rushing down the stairs and kill him, but none of that happened. They must have been too into their chant to notice. He slid into the cupboard and happily found an old mop. He checked it's strength and figured it would give him a head start in the rescue. It was better than nothing.

He made his way out of the cupboard and silently made his way up the stairs where he kept low to avoid being seen through the window and securely slid the handle of the mop in the handle of the door and pushed it between the balusters on the landing, making sure it didn't fall through and held fast. He slunk back down to the bottom floor and slid back into the shadows, watching carefully and holding back his gasps as he saw the man drag the scalpel down the middle of Sherlock's torso.

"Are you ready, my brothers? With this last sacrifice our God shall ascend to the heaven's and take his true place above to rule down on the heathens who litter this earth with their sins and debauchery. This man has interfered long enough that it was demanded of us to sacrifice his blood for this sake."

John stared in horror as the man lifted a large dagger and made to sink it into Sherlock's midsection. John couldn't hold back and darted forward, flying through the door and tackling the cloaked man away from the table and to the floor, not even noticing that the dagger sliced open his shoulder in the process. He heard the uproar from above and the slamming against the door. He smiled to himself when his plan worked.

"How dare you interfere in this sacred ritual!" The man below him cried, trying to wiggle free and stab him simultaneously. He head butted the man and pinned the dagger-wielding wrist to the floor before squeezing until the man let it go.

John didn't think twice, he picked it up and sunk it deep into the man's side. The man groaned in agony and whimpered in pain, calling for his God. The blonde stood up, stared down at the man and picked up the dagger, keeping it on him as he made his way to the table and sliced the leather restraints. Sherlock groaned and tried to sit up, his head swimming and causing him to tumble off the table.

"John... watch out." He gasped in time for John to turn around and block off an attack from the cloaked man. He gave the man a fierce uppercut and felt himself filled with satisfaction as the man crumpled to the ground. He bent down and fussed over Sherlock, whom was slowly getting his senses back and stood up, albeit a touch shakily.

"You are foolish to come in here after me. They could easily kill you without a second thought. Look at your shoulder, it's wounded badly."

"I don't care. I love you, you wanker." John hissed out, lightly punching Sherlock's shoulder.

"The feeling is mutual, but if you'll excuse me," The man murmured before pushing John over the table until he was sprawled on the opposite side, "I have something to do."

John looked up in time to see one sinewy arm block a black-clad one. It seemed one of the cult members was late and came in time to see all was not well. Sherlock jabbed the man in the side and grabbed his wrist, throwing him over his shoulder and pinning him to the table just in time for the main doors of the butchery to slam open and the police to rush in.

"That's a new way to fight, Sherlock, going to make it a habit?" Lestrade asked as he and a few men came in to put the two cult members in handcuffs.

"Piss off." Sherlock muttered, sniffing indignantly as a paramedic rushed over to him with that infuriatingly orange blanket.

He wrapped it snugly around his waist and watched the scene with dispassionate eyes. He had already come down from the high of the case. John sighed and made his way to Sherlock's side, looking up at him questioningly. Sherlock shook his head and made his way outside, John following shortly behind him.

"Did you mean what you said?" John finally asked, handing Sherlock a coat that Lestrade had in his car. Sherlock gave him a perplexed look before looking back off into the distance.

John was about to give up waiting for an answer when Sherlock murmured, "Yes, I did."

The blonde looked at him wide-eyed, his heart nearly stopping in his joy. Sherlock gave him a small smile before leaning forward and pressing a chaste kiss to his lips.

* * *

The next day was a whirlwind of events. John and Sherlock were finally allowed to go home from the hospital after Sherlock's small cuts got disinfected and patched up and John's shoulder got stitched up and covered with a bandage before a nurse handed over a long list of things he could or could not do.

"I don't see why I have to get told all this. I'm a medical student for God's sake." John muttered as he followed Sherlock up the stairs to their flat.

When they entered their flat they were surprised to see Lestrade waiting for them, standing at the window in the den, looking at the street.

"Can I help you?" Sherlock muttered, making his way to his armchair for a much needed sit down.

"They caught the apparent God of the cult so no one is in any danger any more unless he somehow gets out. I thought John would like to know that he can now go back to his own house and is no longer in need of protection. I'm also here because I need the cyphers and the translations for evidence." He stated, hand out in Sherlock's direction.

Sherlock sighed and handed over the cyphers wrapped up in the notes he made. Lestrade thanked him before leaving, apparently too busy to stay and chat. John slowly sat down in his armchair, his thoughts a mess. He was no longer warranted to stay here and was expected to go back to his mother's house. There was no way he could stay in that place any more. His eyebrows furrowed as he tried to figure out a solution.

"Just stay here."

John quickly looked up, staring at his silent companion who was staring off to the side. He studied the unruly hair, the glittering eyes that had dark circles around them now, the stark white bandage causing his already pale skin to be nearly deathly in pallor before murmuring, "Excuse me?"

"You and Gladstone both can stay here if you wish. If you rather live back in your house, by all means, go ahead. I'm just offering." Sherlock stated before standing up and gliding to his room and closing the door behind him with a gentle click.

John felt a small smile tug at his lips. He understood the implications of that seemingly offhand comment. Sherlock wanted him to stay. He stood up and made his way up to his room, bent down and looked at Gladstone.

"Do you want to stay here, boy?"

Gladstone made a strange harrumph type noise before he barrelled John over and licked his face.

"I take that as a yes." He chuckled before righting himself and making his way back downstairs.

He knocked on Sherlock's door, awaiting an answer. When none came he cracked opened the door and found himself unable to hold back a smile.

Curled up in a duvet, hair tousled and body in a fetal position, lay the usually proud, stoic man. He was lightly snoring away and buried deep into his pillow. John quietly closed the door and made his way to the den.

He'd tell him tomorrow.

* * *

**Winterimperfect wrote the chapter and in the last chapter i wrote the conversation between Mary and John (i forgot to mention that) but i like to thank those who reviewed but next comes the epilogue and i might be writing bonus chapters for those who really like the story. i wrote the epilogue yay!**


	17. Epilogue

_One Year Later…_

John was sitting at a table during the reception for his sister wedding, Harry had just married Clara her high school sweetheart. John had dragged Sherlock along much to his dislike, the blonde knew his partner hated social events but this was special. John smiled as he heard a song come on; he got up and grabbed Sherlock hand.

**We were strangers starting out on our journey****  
****Never dreaming what we'd have to go through****  
****Now here we are and I'm suddenly standing****  
****At the beginning with you**

"Come on." John said dragging Sherlock before he could say anything, the brunette looked at John. He pulled Sherlock closer, "Don't give me that look."

"You know I don't like this." Sherlock said as they started to dance.

**No one told me I was going to find you****  
****Unexpected what you did to my heart****  
****When I lost hope you were there to remind me****  
****This is the start**

"So, I like it." John said smiling.

"Of course you do your normal." Sherlock looked down at his younger partner.

**We were strangers on a crazy adventure****  
****Never dreaming how our dreams would come true****  
****Now here we stand unafraid of the future****  
****At the beginning with you**

"Sherlock, you know you like being close to me." John said. Sherlock sighed.

"Honestly, I never thought I meet someone like you." Sherlock said. John looked at him and couldn't help but smile. "Who knew I find someone who could tolerate me."

"No normal human being can, you're an insufferable idiot." John paused, "But you're my insufferable idiot."

**I knew there was somebody somewhere****  
****Like me alone in the dark****  
****I know that my dream will live on****  
****I've been waiting so long****  
****Nothing's gonna tear us apart**

Sherlock grinned, "I may detest this but no other person I rather dance with than my husband."

John looked at the man confused and shock, "And you said you couldn't be romantic."

Both smiled before Sherlock leaned into kiss John, the shorter male pulled him closer as they kissed. They both pulled away their eyes meeting as they both smiled at each other.

**And Life is a road and I want to keep going****  
****Love is a river I want to keep flowing****  
****Life is a road now and forever****  
****A Wonderful journey****I'll be there when the world stops turning****  
****I'll be there when the storm is through****  
****In the end I wanna be standing****  
****At the beginning with you**

John laid his head on Sherlock chest holding him tight, "Have I ever told how much I love you?"

Sherlock wanted to give a logical answer but smiled, "Yeah."

**In the end I wanna be standing at the beginning with you.**

* * *

**i almost forgot to mention, the song is called 'At The Beginning' most might know what movie it is from. i love the song and thought of John and Sherlock dancing to it, so i wrote it for the epilogue.**


End file.
